Nell: If that’s an angry terrier called Russell at the door, tell it to go away.
Me: Why?
Nell: It’s trying to sue David for damages.
Me: Gosh. What did Dave do?
Nell: It’s that wretched column. The Afghan went and pushed it off the fence.
Me: Oh no. It’s got a black eye, Nell.
Nell: Let me see. That’s not a black eye. That’s just its colouring. It’s a terrier. Good grief.
Me: What about the walking stick?
Nell: Just for show.
Me: We can’t leave it on the doorstep. Shall I get Dave?
Nell: No. On reflection, Poppy is probably the best one to deal with this.
Me: I thought you didn’t condone violence.
Nell: I don’t.
Me: Poking it with her sword is only going to make matters worse.
Nell: I’m talking about scones, not swords. Terriers are partial to a good scone. Everyone knows that.
Me: I didn’t.
Nell: Poppy can settle it down in front of the fire with a nice cup of tea and a scone.
Me: And they can have a good old chinwag.
Nell: What are you talking about? It’s a terrier, not a Dogue de Bordeaux.
Me: It’s just a saying.
Nell: Anyway, once it is comfortable, we can go and get David and The Cat.
Me: I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Nell.
Nell: The Cat needs to explain itself.
Me: This has disaster written all over it. The Cat never explains itself.
Nell: It has to. We can’t have law suits going on.
Me: In the meantime the terrier is still outside.
Nell: Stop chatting and go and get Poppy, while I ask Kev to build up the fire.
Me: Do you think Gladys should do a contemporary dance?
Nell: I shall ignore that.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
